


Something Like an Angel

by whytheheckn0t



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-12
Updated: 2015-06-30
Packaged: 2018-04-04 03:43:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4124446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whytheheckn0t/pseuds/whytheheckn0t
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"<em>Never</em>, out of all the situations she had ever imagined to happen when she met the Commander again, was  <em>this </em> on the list."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Act I: Chapter I

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there! Just a few quick things before you start to read:
> 
> Firstly, this story was prompted by a whole bunch of Tumblr posts that I kinda maybe really did crush into one fic because I really enjoyed them - being the dumbass I am, I never tag anything so if you recognise some of the stuff in here, shoot me a message so I can thank you and ref you!
> 
> Secondly, I wrote this in the space of maaaybe two days so it's definitely unbeta'd. So sorry about any grammatical/spelling errors, I just wanted to get it out of my head
> 
> Thirdly, if there's enough interest, I have an idea to turn this into a multi-chapter fic :) in which case, if anyone's interested in beta-ing shoot me a message

As a child on the Ark, Clarke Griffin had read about angels. There were best described as spiritual beings, believed to act as an attendant, agent, or messenger of God, conventionally represented in human form with wings and a long robe. Some depictions even had angels on top or by one’s shoulder. Finding it hard to believe such a creature existed, Clarke asked around. Her father had suggested the term instead to be that of a person of exemplary conduct or virtue. A young child told her they were the people God took them from people’s lives so they could help watch over them all. Asking around always resulted in synonymous answers. For as many altered definitions of the term ‘angel’ was spoken to her, Clarke realised one explanation that never failed to turn up was the word ‘guardian’.

 

In the days and weeks to come, Clarke was obsessed with drawing these angels. She took inspiration from any person that captured her eye. Each figure was shaped different, skin and hair colours as variant as the styles and poses they were captured in. Even the wings she drew upon their backs was assorted and never the same. That was the thing about angels – they could be anyone. Beautiful in their own way, eye capturing to the viewers and, of course, imposing. Clarke always had a gift with drawing.

 

It was interesting – seeing the light bleed in from the walls and windows and casting a halo upon the person of her fixation – that the fact that Clarke’s first thought upon seeing the small grounder girl gliding across the room was _is that what an angel is like?_. The thought was met with shock and a curiosity because where the _hell_ did a thought like that even come from? It was a ridiculous thought anyway, considering all tales cemented the idea that angels came from _above_ , not the ground. If anything, Clarke would have been the one to be called an angel, having been born in the sky. She scoffed internally.

 

Clarke didn’t know how long she had been lying there awake, much less for how long she had actually been there in the first place. At the moment, she was having much difficulty moving to some mixture of pain, distortion and numbness. While it limited her mobility to stand, she was able to look around. Admittedly, the light coming in from the outside was the cause of the slight grimace on Clarke’s face as it assaulted her vision but she couldn’t complain as it _did_ help in gaining her bearings.

 

The room was actually more of a one-room hut, being no more than seven meters in radius. From the scarce books lining the shelves, to the equipment laid meticulously across the room and the few cots placed between screens, there was no doubt that this was some sort of medical bay. Beneath her, the cot was steady and strong, the furs on top warm and lined with soft cloth. Even the bandages covering her head, torso and limbs seemed to be made as carefully as it was applied.

 

The scenery here was much different from the scenery in her last known location. Before her waking, Clarke remembered being cold and shivering in the dying sun. There was a slight frost in the wind and rain had begun to fall in sharp hits. With the pack she had scoured together from the remains of the drop ship under her head, a meagre tarp overhead and the ripped sleeping bag she found, Clarke had been miserable and hungry. This had all also been before she was sharply woken by the bone rattling howls that echoed across the forest.

 

Before falling unconscious, in front of a pack of some large beast as one tore through her shoulder, Clarke couldn’t help the slight, _Damn it_ , that had run through her mind. As much as Clarke thought she deserved whatever awful fate would come her way, she had never wanted to die. Not really.

 

And now she was here, relatively in one piece and warily watching a young girl work about.

 

What the ever-lasting _fuck_ , Clarke? God, maybe she got thrown around a little too hard.

 

But she couldn’t help it. For one, it was almost captivating, the way the girl seemed to effortlessly move about. Even more so, was that _something_ familiar about her. Clarke couldn’t place what ‘it’ was – the feeling was like the memory of a food’s aftertaste. Almost there, almost recognisable, but not quite. And she couldn’t look away. The girl was small, but with the strong way she carried herself, Clarke wasn’t quite sure if she was older than she looked. At a glance, the girl couldn’t have been older than nine, maybe ten. Even that was stretching it. She wore a dark shirt under an even darker jacket that looked almost too big on her. The girl’s pants were slightly muddied, tucked into a pair of black boots. Around her waist was a deep red sash. From where Clarke saw her, with the girl’s back facing her at a nearby table, she saw the girl’s hair, a light brown, braided at one side and pulled over to the other in slightly curled waves that shifted as she moved.

 

Familiar, but not.

 

That didn’t even cover the astounding presence such a small girl seemed to command. Everything just seemed to be drawn to her. In addition, as confounding as it sounded, it was like there was some else in the room, hovering by the girl’s shoulder and watching over her.

 

The creak of the medical hut door was the only warning the occupants of the room had before it opened. Clarke briefly saw the girl visibly tense and turn, before she shut her eyes and settled back down on the bed as quickly as she could without making it obvious she was up.

 

“Willa.”

 

The recognisable hard tone of Indra’s voice carried over the quiet. Near her, the rustle of material shimmered and from the displaced air, Clarke knew the girl had walked away. “Chit yu gaf Indra?” _What do you want Indra_? The sky girl knew the familiar phrase that had often been directed at her the many times she had barged into the Grounder’s command tent before. Back then, the question tended to sound mostly neutral with a hint of amusement lingering undertone. Now, the words were said with restrained bite, cold and emotionless. It sounded very wrong, especially with the young girl’s voice.

 

Both exchanged quick words in Trigedasleng, too fast for Clarke to catch up with the basics she knew, the tones increasingly getting harsher until, “ _Pleni_.” The words were said quietly but with a finality that instantly seemed to silence Indra. An order was barked, followed by what sounded like a dismissal. The Second responded stiffly, quieter and almost gently. It was quiet for a few moments after the hut’s door was opened and violently slammed shut.

 

“You have woken Heda kom Skaikru.” Is all Indra said to the silence.

 

Clarke didn’t bother feigning sleep any longer. With one hand and a grimace, she pushed herself upright. There was a twitch at the corner of Indra’s jaw when Clarke eyed her wearily. The woman definitely hadn’t changed since Clarke last saw her – still in the same armour she wore the night the Grounders left the Sky People, still with the same stiffness she had whenever Clarke was around, still with the hard glint in her eye.

 

Clarke paused, and narrowed her eyes slightly. That wasn’t quite right. Did Indra seem more tired? Certainly there was the deep bruising underneath the Second’s eyes, but even during the exhausting, tense calm before the storm that was their invasion on the Mountain Men, Indra had never lost the steel in her glare. She seemed worn down now for some unnerving reason, slouching slightly to one side as she held onto the hilt of the sword at her hip.

 

“Hey.” Clarke wasn’t too sure what else to say. She had to blanch at the scratchiness and thickness of her voice. Too much time without its use was certainly making it difficult for her to speak right now. However, she continued on. “How did I get here?”

 

Indra recoiled slightly at hearing her. Her eyes darted around the room, reluctant as she spoke. “You were found three miles out from this camp base by a hunting party. Only you would be foolish enough to walk into a wolf’s den.” The last part came as a sneer.

 

Clarke was about to snap something back, but the lack of bite in Indra’s tone kept it at bay. “I see.” She said instead. Silence stretched on. “I was heading to Polis.” Clarke blurted in a quieter tone. She had no idea why she said that; like she was trying to clarify herself. Clarke didn’t have to explain herself to anyone. But the words were said, and the very implications of the statement hung heavily between them. Somehow, Clarke knew that Indra understood. After all, how likely was it that, as close a person to the Commander as Indra was, she was completely unaware of what transpired between them? At the very least, Clarke knew Indra had an inkling.

 

Indra shut her eyes, her jaw clenching. Her nose flared when she spoke and her eyes snapped back open as if in anger. “You were seventy miles out – two days walk to the east at most.”

 

“I see.” Clarke said again. The air fell denser with something indescribable. Indra’s tone sounded accusatory and bitter. It made everything that much more suffocating and desperate to break it, Clarke indicated to her bandaged limbs. “What happened to me?”

 

“Wolf attack.” Indra replied. “A claw marred your back and one wolf’s two heads managed to get your left shoulder and left arm. I presume that side will ache for a while. The hunting party got to you before the rest of the pack did. Your wounds have been disinfected, stitched as best as it could and treated with a salve before being bandaged. You’ve been unconscious for three days and your belongings are stored below your cot.”

 

Even as the Second spoke, Clarke could see the images in her mind, coming back to her in fragments. Between blackouts, Clarke remembered blood and pain. Loud noises, torches, the rustling of leaves. There were shouts and battle cries, the sound of unsheathed weapons. Grateful (for what exactly she wasn’t too sure), Clarke nodded. “Right. Thank you for your assistance Indra.”

 

“If you need anything else, call for me.” Clarke was a little startled at the offer and stared after the retreating Second. She had not thought Indra thought very well of her, much less willing to offer her help. In fact, this may have been the closest thing to kindness Clarke ever received from her.

 

As Indra turned to take her leave, Clarke called for her. “Actually,” Clarke began softly. Indra stopped. “I need to move around for a bit. Continued bed rest can cause reduction in muscle mass if I don’t move soon.”

 

The dark woman considered the thought carefully. “Perhaps after lunch.” It was more of a command than bargaining. “While I will personally escort you about, I need time to gather a guard of men also. Perhaps you haven’t heard after your disappearance Clarke of the Skypeople, however, there has been an increase of civil unrest. For your safety, I would do this.”

 

Clarke would have laughed if Indra didn’t look so serious. Indra’s behaviour was bordering on ridiculous and out of character. “Is there something going on?” Clarke asked concerned.

 

In the weeks spent aimlessly travelling the woods, going between hating everything and everyone, to crying herself into exhaustion, Clarke had thought of a million things she wanted to say, what she ever wanted to do if she ever met _her_ again. Most were violent. Some were results of her sadness. Her bitterness would turn to hate, to fear, to sorrow and regret and misery in an endless erratic cycle. Clarke cursed the Grounders, the Ark, and her ancestors for putting her where she was now. But here, in this moment, all of that anger seemed non-existent. Maybe Clarke was just tired of it all; maybe her reasoning was something else entirely. In any case, the concern she had for the Grounders in light of trouble seemed matched with the concern she held for them before everything had fallen from her feet. While Clarke was not one hundred percent sure how she felt, still caring for those that had betrayed her, it didn’t mean that she didn’t think for their well being at all. Or maybe all of that was an attempt at rationalising her curiosity.

 

Clarke’s head began to hurt.

 

“Something.” Indra agreed distantly, interrupting Clarke’s train of thought. Her grip tightened on the hilt of her sword. “I really should take my leave Heda kom Skykru.”

 

Clarke acknowledged her. “Of course. Just,” She bit her lip, hesitatingly. The question she was beginning to know since the entirety of her woken state got stuck in her throat. Clarke wondered if she had any right to ask, or even, if she should ask at all. Before thinking of the consequences, in a small voice, she bit out, “Is the _Commander_ here?”

 

Clarke’s heart involuntarily leapt to her throat in excitement when Indra hoarsely replied, “Yes.”

 

The older woman was gone with shut door before Clarke could question anything further. Settling back down beneath her covers, Clarke let her mind run.

 

Ever since _she_ had left her by the mountain on her own, Clarke refused to name the Commander beyond her title in her head. It was a distancing technique she tried to apply, as was all the directed anger. However, the counteraction to it was that Clarke constantly thought of her. No matter how far her thoughts diverged from a topic, Clarke’s thoughts would turn to _her_.

 

Thank God for denial. Folly to those that claimed it was worth nothing. It may have been one of few things that had kept Clarke sane on her travels. The struggle was hard. On one hand, Clarke was more than willing to go about hating her. No one more than Clarke knew if that was the easiest course of action. On the other hand, Clarke didn’t want to hate her. She couldn’t. Not truly without her a) being a hypocrite and b) absolutely lying through her teeth.

 

Worst. Crush. Ever.

 

Clarke was almost too ecstatic when Indra came back into the room with a tray of food in her hands. Her arrival worked as an effective distraction. After placing the tray on the table beside her, the Second helped Clarke sit up and adjust herself. When she offered Clarke a cup of water – Clarke hadn’t realised she was even thirsty in the first place – the blonde took it gratefully. Quickly draining the first cup, Clarke did the same to the second, third _and_ fourth cup.

 

“Indra?” Clarke said timidly as she wiped the corner of her mouth. The woman balanced the tray of food across Clarke’s lap carefully and stopped in her explanation of the different part of Clarke’s meal, raising an eyebrow. “Yes?”

 

Pointedly looking at her food instead of at her, and toying with the spoon at the bowl’s side, Clarke asked her, “Can you tell me about Lexa?” Oddly enough, Clarke didn’t think it’d hurt so much to say the Commander’s name out loud for the first time in a while. Not thinking about it clearly did not to lessen the pain.

 

“Did you hear something?” Indra asked sharply.

 

Green eyes flickered to dark ones. Clarke gaped, startled at the shortness of Indra’s tone. “You’re the first person I’ve been in contact with in weeks.” She said truthfully. In a quieter voice, “I was hoping to see her.”

 

“Perhaps you shall meet the Commander later.” Exhaling loudly, Indra straightened up and crossed her arms. “But speak now Clarke; what other burning questions do you wish me to answer for you?” She asked wearily. “And do not lie. You wear your heart on your sleeve.”

 

Clarke felt like a child with an uninterested adult at the question. Her thoughts were a private thing, and if she thought the request she was about to ask she considered was stupid, saying them out loud would just make it sound all the more ridiculous to her. God knows what Indra of all people would think of her. However, Clarke wanted to get something out of her mind – something Indra could help answer. Any ease to the mind was welcomed with open arms by Clarke.

 

As she dug into the bowl of gruel in front of her, Clarke said, “I’ve been trying to forgive her. Trying to forgive myself really. I guess,” She slowed a little at the admission. “I’ve spent quite some time looking for her humanity so that, in a way, I can find my own.” Clarke shoved food into her mouth to stop herself from going further.

 

Indra stared at Clarke. She stared so long that Clarke was ready to retract her statement and make something else up. “You want to know of the Commander Lexa’s humanity?” She sounded incredulous and almost angry.

 

Clarke winced. Okay, she had to admit that her last sentence was probably as worded poorly as it got and not at all what she was getting at. After all, she had been quite privy with a more human side of Lexa – intimately and in a more compassionate sense. She tried again. “Something beyond the Commander I met.” Clarke amended quickly. “I want to know her beyond the leader – that it wasn’t just who she was. I thought you would have known her better having known her longer and everything.”

 

“The Grounders take pride in leadership Clarke. Never mistake that. However,” But the corner of Indra’s mouth twitched and betrayed her true opinion. “I perhaps do know of what you mean. Or at least, I can help bring some peace to your mind. I cannot, after all, make you forgive yourself.” Indra paused. “You realise the great Commander would have me lashed if I divulged her darkest secrets and everything that made her _weak_ Clarke of the Skypeople.”

 

“Humanity isn’t always a weakness Indra.” Clarke tore a peace of the bread and popped it into her mouth, flinching a little at the pain the movement caused. She waved Indra away when she started towards her. “Say something small then. It doesn’t have to be revealing. Maybe something everyone knows that I don’t?”

 

“You request is certainly interesting if anything.” Indra looked deep in thought enough that Clarke knew that she was going to grant her request. Then, with a rueful smile (the sort of expression Clarke had _never_ seen on the woman), Indra said, “Do you know the Commander’s name?”

 

Clarke was surprised. “Is it not Lexa?” She asked dumfounded.

 

Indra shook her head, smile growing a little like she was in on some inside joke. “I do believe the Commander had used the name Lexa when she was trying to come off as a peasant for Kane when he was captured. Do you know the story of what happened there?” Clarke nodded. “I heard from my time with Octavia that Kane told you, and the others, that she was named Lexa. Imagine hers, mine and all the Grounders’ surprise when you, Clarke, start calling her Lexa to her face.”

 

“Cause that’s her name?” Clarke stressed.

 

Indra let out a bark of a laugh. Clarke almost dropped her food in shock at the sound. “Except it’s not.” Her dark eyes seemed to twinkle mischievously when Clarke’s eyes widened. “It’s a nickname few people use. If you had known her as we Grounders did before your fall, you’d recognise her as _Alexandria the Conquering Uniter_. Yet, and to this day I am surprised as any she confided in me this, I do believe you managed to truly fluster her into forgetting her name for a second. She was embarrassed to correct you after many days and now many of our warriors choose to fondly refer to her as Heda Lexa.”

 

Clarke’s ears burned red and she ducked her head. Her bashfulness didn’t stop the stupid smile she tried to stop from spreading across her face, and eventually, she burst into small giggles. She tried to hide it behind the back of her hand. The entire idea was ridiculous, and mortifying for Lexa certainly. However, Clarke couldn’t find it in herself to be too surprised. To her, it really was such a Lexa thing to do that she had to keep laughing.

 

 _Alexandria_.

 

Charmed, Clarke rolled the name in her mind, then in her mouth. “I like it.” She murmured. Her blush returned ten-fold, and completely missed the blank look Indra sported. Delighted now, Clarke begged for more.

 

Where had all her anger gone?

 

“If you eat.” Indra returned. To prove herself, Clarke eagerly went for her food. And Indra talked.

 

Whilst finishing her food, Clarke was told of Lexa as a smaller child. The way she was as a newborn babe, and the humorous tales as a toddler. Clarke had known Indra was close with Lexa – she didn’t think ‘friends of the parents’ close. Indra had apparently grown up by Lexa’s father’s side. A large, menacing looking man with a warm heart named Drogo. “That’s where Lexa got her looks from.” Indra mused as an afterthought. He had been one of the finest, well-bred warriors of his generation, and many found, as Lexa was chosen for her position, not to be surprised with the Spirit of the Commander’s choice. Especially with the kind of ideally compassionate, yet merciless kind of leader Lexa found in her mother – a woman called Dani.

 

While helping redress Clarke’s wounds, Indra spoke of a story of Lexa a child at nine winters. By then Lexa had already been taken in by Anya as her chosen second, but well before her placement as Commander. Lexa was smaller than most other children growing up. She had worried frequently while others teased at her size, constantly wondering if she was good enough. Indra had to send Anya to her after one time too many of the child’s brooding. After a training session with her (“A successful one at that”; apparently Lexa was quite the warrior prodigy), Indra had been patiently waiting at the side to accompany Anya for a meeting. The blonde leader had gotten on one knee to look a worn Lexa in her eyes. Then, with few words, Anya had presented Lexa with her first sword – a gift typically presented to warriors at their early teenage years.

 

While helping Clarke lace her shoes and stand, Indra told her of a story that Gustus had revealed after accidentally walking into the Commander’s tent seeking an audience with their leader. Anya had been trying to help put Lexa’s war paint on as they sat on the floor, a few days after Lexa first met Costia. Lexa couldn’t stop talking about her, physically getting her hands involved as she explained just how captivating the other girl was. The constant movement had irritated Anya to the point where she had dipped her entire hand into the bowl, coating her hand, and slapped it against Lexa’s face. Lexa’s exasperation was as Anya was smug.

 

“Is this truly helping you?” Indra asked doubtful as she helped pull a baggy shirt over Clarke’s head.

 

Clarke _did_ feel better. Physically and mentally. “Like you wouldn’t believe.” She murmured. Honestly, it was like a weight had been taken off her shoulders. Lexa had been this person before the leader she was. It meant, that deep down, there was still a girl who wouldn’t stop chatting to her parents, who followed Anya around like a puppy and fell for someone like any other person. She was a girl – same as Clarke. If this war worn leader had, in days of knowing her, shown her better side, was a little more humane (at least when it came to Clarke) after all had been said and done, it meant Clarke could do the same. That for her sins in the mountain; she didn’t have to lose herself entirely. She was a changed person yes, but it wasn’t like she still couldn’t be like the Clarke from before she fell from the sky. At least, Clarke hoped so.

 

Imagine had they been given longer.

 

Indra sighed, but continued her tales as she walked Clarke to the door.

 

For a moment, Clarke blanched at the full force of the sunlight hitting her eyes. Her grip on Indra’s arm tightened, her vision swimming and her head felt like it was caving in. She swallowed thickly. “I’m fine.” Clarke breathed assuredly when Indra’s own grip became taut. She blinked away the water forming in her eyes.

 

When they were clear, Clarke revelled in her surroundings. The fresh air was incredible. It was crisp but not chilly and it was refreshing in all the right ways. It was midday if the sun at its peak indicated anything. The area the Grounders chose to stop at was at a nicely sized field, surrounded at the edges by the thicket of forest trees. A brook sat at the centre of the grounds some distance away where Clarke could see just past all the huts and tents set up. There was a smell of cooking meat in the air, as was the scent of burning metal that accompanied the clangs of metal work.

 

To her side, Indra was speaking in quick, short Trigedasleng to a few men standing by. They nodded respectfully, and as Indra guided Clarke in a leisurely pace, the men followed them behind at a reasonable distance. As they walked, it was almost like Clarke was thrown back into the time where the Coalition and the people of the Ark worked as one. While few Grounders they passed were content to dip their head in acknowledgement, many were eager to come up and greet Clarke and her companions. Many of them spoke in Trisgandleng in short bursts, switching to English between them, before Indra would growl them away with some choice words. It was as kind of fascinating, the way the colour seemed to drain from their faces as Indra shooed them before they slunk away. For her part, Clarke would nod politely and return responses as best as she knew.

 

It was the splatter of giggling that drew Clarke’s attention away from the gathering Grounders. Like déjà vu, Clarke found herself inexplicably drawn to the dark haired girl with the second presence hovering by her shoulder. She was there by the brook, boldly holding out a flower to one of the older women hovering by and cleaning their weapons. The women all laughed, the men near them commenting playfully, making the girl blush. Trailing behind the girl were a group of children, each pushing each other to get as close as they dared to the girl – which wasn’t too close considering the young girl seemed to have a bubble of space to everyone around her.

 

“Who is she?” The words fell from Clarke’s lips before she could stop them. She didn’t even realise she had stopped in her tracks.

 

“Who, Clarke?”

 

Clarke gestured with her head. “The brunette girl there in the middle. Surrounded by everyone. She was there in the medical hut before when I woke.”

 

Indra didn’t answer her, growing rigid. Instead, she gave a small, weak smirk, tugging Clarke in the other direction from the group, back towards Clarke’s medical hut. “Would you believe the same sort of thing happened much to Lexa?” She drawled coolly.

 

One last look was cast behind Clarke, to the girl, to the outline of something more by her shoulder before she prodded Indra to continue. As Indra described the next memory, Clarke tried to picture a younger Lexa with a strong posture as she walked, dressed in a shirt too big and dark clothes, with her red cape at one shoulder and her dark braided hair falling in waves to the other. Then, she tried to imagine the girls that used to giggle and blush, or the flustered bravo the boys put on, when Lexa walked by. _Fans_. Indra called them.

 

Clarke was about to comment on this engrossing trivia, but her attention was distractedly drawn to several nearby Grounders. It shouldn’t have been as much of a surprise as it was to find other medical huts and tents near where Clarke had been brought. Indra was clearly letting her move in a place where she would receive immediate medical help if she needed it. However, Clarke was not concerned so much as where they were, as she was the area’s occupants.

 

Despite the way the Grounders mustered the strength to wave to them, Clarke noticed every single one of the warriors in this particular area were varying levels of injured. From her own medical expertise, she knew that these wounds looked, and were, relatively fresh. Days old – a week or two at most. Some warriors sat on the ground while healers tended to arm and face wounds. Others curled on cots with bloodied bandages wrapped around entire limbs. It was only then that Clarke realised not only that the men following them as their guard sported their own minor injuries, but also that Indra had been favouring one side and limping the entire time.

 

“Indra.” Clarke cut in the woman’s talk slowly. “What happened here? Why is everyone injured?” _Why are you?_ Was left unspoken.

 

And then a soft cry shattered the air.

 

Almost obscured by the tents meters away were the remnants of a pyre. Clarke remembered the way Grounders cremated their dead but this pyre was ridiculously huge. There were still charred yet intact pieces of wood that made the base of it up, with a weak flame still licking at it in small parts. The pyre was surround by people dropping flowers, food and even weapons into the ashes. Members of the pyre’s crowd mourned with quiet wails or terribly concealed sorrow. At the pyre’s four corners, a warrior stood steadily with large banners, hidden behind masks.

 

An idea was forming in Clarke head, little by little. A terrible, sickening, ghastly idea.

 

“Clarke.” Came the voice of the girl from earlier.

 

Indra’s face contorted into barely concealed horror. The two women turned to find the young girl looking transfixed at Clarke’s face. Her expression was blank, seemingly from shock. Indra spat hastily in Trigedasleng to the smaller girl whilst stepping in front of Clarke, half hiding her. From her words, Clarke could make out the name from before. _Willa_.

 

Clarke met the girl’s gaze head on and nearly tripped over her own feet when she drowned in familiar eyes. Those were _Lexa’s_ hazel eyes. By the girl’s shoulder, the presence there seemed to shrink in on itself.

 

The way all the pieces fitted together suddenly had the stunning effect of a bomb.

 

Clarke’s blood ran cold. She stopped breathing, her eyes widening to the point that they began to hurt. A stone dropped into the pit of her stomach, and her chest… _Fuck_.

 

Her chest was on _fire_.

 

The young girl, Willa, ran up to her, and threw her arms about her legs. _No, no, no._

 

“Clarke of the Skypeople, I’m so sorry,” She sobbed into her stomach. _No please._ Clarke took a step back to brace herself from falling and taking the girl with her.

 

“Why?” _Please don’t say anything_. “Who are you?” _Please don’t say it –_ God _please – let me be wrong – don’t-_. “And how do you know me?” Clarke gently asked the little girl. The need to console the girl made the words fall from her mouth automatically, even if she didn’t want to hear them answered. _This can’t be happening_.

 

“I’m the new commander.” 

 

 _Never_ , out of all the situations she had ever imagined to happen when she met the Commander again, was  _this_  on the list.

 

Over the girl’s shoulder, Clarke thought she saw the hovering outline of a woman crying into her hands.

 


	2. Act I: Chapter II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy crap guys! Thanks for kudo-ing (idk if that's a word) and commenting! You've actually made my entire week so here - have another chapter in what is now going to be a multi-chapter fic! Plot wise, this chapter lacks somewhat till the end since I'm still setting up stuff :) This was a bit of a long chapter and I think if I spend any more time trying to edit it I'll eat an entire tub of ice cream to make myself feel better. If you see any inconsistencies, gimme a shout out. Otherwise, enjoy the chapter! :)  
> Note: I have no idea how re-incarnation works but for the purposes of this story, let's just go along with it.

In any other normal state of being, Clarke could have easily come up with a rather unnecessarily long list of mistakes she had ever committed just from the top of her head. Now was not one of those moments. As Clarke unceremoniously sunk to the ground, her only coherent thought was officially deciding that getting down at eye level with the cause of her shock was probably the worst thing she had ever done in the history of her complicated life.

 

And added to all of this – God in Heaven, _why_ – she really was going into a panic attack.

 

Clarke recognised the symptoms in some dark, inappropriately timed part of her mind. Her breaths came in rapid gasps like she was choking, her heart thrashing against her rib cage in discomfort while her entire body trembled. Both Indra and the girl, Willa, closed in, concerned chatter falling from their lips. Clarke heard none of it, screwing her eyes shut as her fingers gripped at her skull and the palms of her hands digging into her temples. Somehow, while a million thoughts rattled around in her brain, at the same time, it was like her mind had gone blank and devoid of thought.

 

Lexa was never supposed to have elicited such a response from Clarke. For fuck’s sake she hadn’t know her for very long! And yet this was happening.

 

The girl in front of her instantly went from hugging her around to waist, to supporting the entirety of Clarke’s weight. She barely managed it, her hands curling tightly to the cloth of Clarke’s shirt while Clarke’s chin dug into her shoulder. In her ear, Clarke heard Indra’s name being barked amongst the commands Willa snapped out in quick succession. A moment later, a pair of arms appeared and scooped Clarke up into the chest of one of the men who had been trailing her earlier.

 

Or at least they _tried_ to. Instinctively, Clarke lashed out against the person trying to hold her. A yelp deafened her and the guard immediately dropped her. Clarke hit the ground awkwardly, blindly scrambling back on her hands and knees. The pain from her wounds only added to her frustration to her limited movement and increasing blind anger. “Don’t-” Clarke spat between hard breaths. She wheezed in clumsily, grasping at the chest blindly with one hand as if the action would stop the pain in her heart hurting. For all the pain in her other limbs, her chest just seemed to ache the most. Clarke’s other hand came up, palms facing towards the people drawing nearer as if to stop them. Thankfully, they did not draw any closer and lingered awkwardly some feet away.

 

“Clarke?” Willa asked carefully. A crunch of leaves indicated her step forward.

 

Clarke’s eyes snapped open, a shuddering exhale leaving her lips when she saw the concern taking over Willa’s features, familiar eyes piercing right into her soul. “Stop.” The weak, pleading tone sounded pathetic.

 

The dark haired girl was startled. Her face crumpled with hurt. If Clarke hadn’t been too busy trying to remember how to breathe properly, she would have felt extremely guilty. However, she _was_ busy, and instead of apologising, she just cursed colourfully and tried to stand. Beside the girl, Indra held her hands up in a surrendering move. “Clarke.” She said smoothly. Indra raised her voice higher to be heard over Clarke’s rasps. “Clarke, pay attention to me. We can help you. But we need to move you back to the medical home so we can repair the damage you have inflicted upon yourself.”

 

Swallowing thickly, Clarke looked down. Indra hadn’t been exaggerating when she used the word damage. Blood seeped beyond the bandages covering her torso and on her shirt in an ever-growing splotch. She was aware of a stinging pain flaring the left side of her body, some of the wrappings had been torn from her awkward fall, and her scrambling just then seemed tear open a few stitches – Clarke felt them. Numbly, Clarke nodded. She was vaguely aware of the people surrounding them, shrinking at their whispers and tried again – failing – to stand up. Her legs feeling weak, and the quiver in her body made it difficult enough without fighting the urge to stay frozen to her spot still on the ground. Willa’s eyes seemed to harden when the whispers grew, and without moving her eyes from Clarke, she loudly announced a few choice words Trigedasleng. Whatever she said effectively dispersed the lingering crowd. In a quieter voice, Willa drew Indra’s attention with a touch to her elbow. “ _Sis au_ Clarke, Indra.” The small girl said quietly to the Second. Her hazel eyes sadly met Clarke’s, before darting away nervously. “ _Osir fis em op._ ”

 

Clarke didn’t know why, but when Indra respectfully bowed to her Commander, it seemed to really hit her that _she_ was gone. Indra was taking order from a child twice, no _thrice_ her minor. This was the woman who had sneered at Octavia’s naivety and laughed at watching the Sky People learn to fight. Yet here Indra was, giving a certain kind of respect reserved only for those the older woman trusted wholeheartedly, to a kid who barely looked like she had started training to become one of their proud warriors, much less the _Commander_ – a position of strength and wise leadership. If Indra was bowing to this girl then it must, actually, really, truly mean that –

 

 _Lexa was gone_.

 

As soon as the phrase was thought, a sob wrecked at Clarke’s entire being. It slipped down her spine as a shiver, turned her limbs to jelly and made Clarke’s vision blacken. Her breath was violently knocked out of her lungs, causing it to still. There were alarmed voices, then stars dancing before her eyes. The next thing Clarke knew, she was being deposited back on her bed in the medical bay.

 

The man Clarke had squirmed away from earlier withdrew his arms from the back of her knees and the middle of her backbone, letting Clarke’s body hit the comfort of her cot. He backed away quickly and exited the room to the sound of Indra kicking apparently curious people out of the door.

 

“Well Clarke kom Skykru,” Clarke’s eyes darted to the rough man standing at the other side of the cot from where the guard had deposited her. His brow furrowed, the tattoo on his face crinkling with the lines. “We were to meet again it seems. Admittedly, this was not as how I would have imagined it.” Nyko pushed gently against Clarke’s shoulder when she attempted to sit up. “I gave you a sedative mixture to help yourself. You will need to take a few moments as I need to readdress your wounds.”

 

“Okay.” Clarke croaked, wincing. She deftly felt for her injuries, unsurprised that the bloodied bandages around her torso had already been taken off. Her shirt had been snipped at the side, to allow access, while it still covered her chest. Without the bandages, Clarke saw the afflictions in her flesh, red, raw and raised where, when she touched them, she could make out the gruesome patterns.

 

Nyko hummed as he laid out his equipment out on a leather spread. His fingers danced over the tools of his craft, considering each of the presented needles carefully. “Would you allow your audience to stay?” He motioned to where Indra stood by the side of an awkward looking Willa. The young girl was sitting at the end of a nearby cot, shifting this way and that, and fidgeting with her fingers. When she realised Clarke’s gaze on her, she jumped to her feet looking like she couldn’t decide if she wanted to draw nearer to blonde or to run in the other direction. Clarke, on her part, didn’t know which decision she’d favour better.

 

“I can leave if you would prefer Clarke?” Despite the strong delivery of the offer, Clarke could perfectly see the reluctance and distress on Willa’s face. There was a faint hiss in the resulting silence, which, after a slight turn of the head, only turned out to be Nyko running a needle through a flame.

 

Clarke finally sighed, feeling her eyes sting again. “I cannot make you do anything.” She said determinedly. No one could, or _should_ , command the Commander after all. No one did for _Lexa_ at least. “But in exchange for your presence, I-” Clarke mentally groaned as she faltered. “I want to know how she died.” The needle entering her skin was a lesser pain than the resulting one from the verbal request. Her strangled voice made Nyko pause in his ministrations and he only continued after being prompted from his patient. Clarke didn’t think Nyko was aware her distress wasn’t come from a heated metal poking holes.

 

Willa and Indra exchanged looks. A silent struggle seemed to be fought from the twitches in their bodies, two opinionated sides warring for dominance. Clarke was a little disappointed when Indra backed down.

 

“It started off with a declaration.” Indra began. She leaned against a table close to Clarke, crossing her arms. A scowled marred her features, bitterness seeping into her tone. “Five days after we left the Mountain, the Ice Nation declared their detachment from the Coalition. They claimed Commander Lexa unfit for duty. ‘Why should they give themselves to a leader who would betray an alliance?’, ‘What would stop her from doing the same to us?’, ‘Look how she mourns the Sky – she is weak.’” Indra ignored the way Clarke seemed to recoil at her words. “When Lexa was challenged for her position - ‘ _If we lose, we shall sacrifice ourselves to you. If you lose, you die_ ’ – she met it head on without another thought.”

 

Clarke frowned. “Lexa wouldn’t just jump straight into a fight.” She argued, unable to still her tongue. Clarke was sure that Lexa was smarter than that – to simply meet a fight without another motive in mind.

 

Indra tilted her head. “I have not told you of what happened to Lexa after she lost Costia, have I?” Clarke’s hands gripped the sheets beneath her. “It is not my place to tell you of her struggle. Just know that a week after Costia’s death, she formed the Coalition, the first of its kind, with the highest body count of her opponents like no one had seen before at sixteen.”

 

Clarke fell quiet after that, the suggestions of the wording evident. To be the first to unite all the twelve clans, twelve groups, twelve lots as stubborn as they were proud, would undoubtedly be difficult as it came. Hell, just joining two together was fucking tense – the Grounder/Sky people alliance was a testament to that fact. Oppressors, and there would have been some, would have only brought more trouble. Their doubt would have sparked hesitance from any ally’s for Lexa’s end goal. For Lexa to come out of the experience in relatively one piece was as highly unlikely as it came. Yet she had achieved her goal with such apparent ruthlessness (if the body count comment was an indicator) in a way that no person could have attained without some sort of mental or emotional blow to make them that way. What child was born with the need to stop inter-clan fighting to the point where they had to take lives to save hundreds time that number? No. Something of that event was damaging.

 

Apart from that, it seemed like Indra was comparing Costia’s loss to that of Clarke being left behind. Willa pointed out cautiously, no one was aware that Clarke or her people had made it alive. Rescuing Clarke from the pack of wolves was the first proof of the Sky People in weeks. It hit Clarke like a ton of bricks then why the comparison was made – for everything Lexa claimed on the weakness of human emotion, whatever feelings developed in the days they knew each other, it was enough to make Lexa feel guilt. Guilt drove her to form to the Coalition so that innocents like Costia would not be harmed ever again. And it was guilt that drove her to settle the people she had betrayed another to die for.

 

Indra went on.

 

Ten days Lexa had rode with a small guard, including Indra, to the North. She barely stopped to rest, gaining good distance in a small amount of time. No one saw any exhaustion upon their Commander’s face despite their own – only blank resolution. Upon a snow bank in the early morning of the tenth day, the Ice Nation, their army and their queen met her envoy. With the red of the Queen’s hair that of darkened blood, the darkness of her eyes, and her dark clothing, she stood out from the rest of her white clothed soldiers. It made for an intimidating figure, Clarke imagined. But Lexa was not moved. Pleasantries on both ends with barely concealed hate were spat out and before the sun had reached its peak, Lexa had drawn her sword to fight her first opponent.

 

Seven fights were to be fought to the death. One person against Lexa each round. There was to be no outside intervention, no warrior or weapon swapping, and the loser would accept honourable defeat. A simple bout of skill was the medium for the challenge issued. The main concept was that the host of the Commander’s spirit would not be permitted to die for such a crucial manner as this. Many in the Commander’s past lives, were said to be able to easily take ten men on at the peak of their lives like Lexa had been. Seven would be no issued. Despite the size and obvious physical advantage of her first opponent, Lexa defeated him with a certain grace. His body had fallen within minutes of their fight, with Lexa murmuring the parting words, _Yu gonplei ste odon_.

 

“The Ice Queen seemed indifferent,” Indra growled out. To Indra, the Queen had simply shrugged at Lexa’s victory, bringing out the next opponent. Before the second match begun, the Queen had waved her hand – a signal of sorts. One of the men in the front of the crowd formed to make the match’s ring, drew his dagger and suddenly brought it to the neck of an elderly man standing by. Not a single member of the Ice Nation batted an eye, whilst the members of the Trikru stared on horrified. Lexa had frozen with shock.

 

‘“ _Remember my challenge_.’ The Queen had said completely bored.” Indra said sourly. “‘ _If we lose, we shall sacrifice ourselves to you. If you lose, you die_ ’.”

 

Clarke had to agree with Indra’s next statement – how were any of them to know they meant it literally?

 

Lexa had no time to react before the second fight began with a war cry and a quickly swinging swordsman. She won that match too and a teenaged boy died. Lexa screamed at her to stop killing the innocents, but the small Tree Clan guard was not, would never be, enough to go against the entire Ice Nation. Besides, Lexa _had_ accepted the Ice Queen’s challenge. And, as the Ice Queen had added, their removal from the Coalition meant that Lexa had no jurisdiction over the Ice Nation – what they did with their own people was their own business. “She taunted her.” Indra’s words were hollow. “If Lexa died, no more had to die. Simple as that. But an entire Coalition losing their rightful leader for a few randomly chosen people? Lexa, as did the rest of us, knew the obvious choice to be made. She couldn’t afford to lose.”

 

Clarke understood the sacrifice. How couldn’t she? It would’ve been hypocrisy in action at its finest. Perhaps the old, naïve girl she had been before the Mountain would not have gotten it. Past her would have tried to find a way without anyone else dying. Present day Clarke did. Not after the choices she had made. The fact of the matter was that there was only one person who did and was capable of keeping hundreds of people united. What chaos would ensue if that person were removed?

 

Three fights went on, and three more people died. A mother, a young man, and a preteen girl.

 

Halfway through the story, Nyko informed Clarke that a particular wound at her shoulder had to be cauterized. While he went at it with the tip of his heated blade, Indra held down the majority of Clarke’s body while Willa made sure to keep the area around the afflicted wound as steady as best as she could. Her arms were locked strong as she fought Clarke’s instinctive jerking. Once Clarke had settled, Nyko continued his administrations, Indra her story, and Willa back to the cot she had been sitting on.

 

“By the beginning of the sixth match, Lexa was very tired.” Indra was now toying with a knife she had fished out from her belt. With a start, Clarke realised that it was the dagger Lexa often favoured. Her heart dropped to her stomach. “Tired of the useless fights, tired of the unnecessary deaths. She asked, as she did the times before, to let the Ice Nation people to be left out of the fight. The Ice Queen mocked nobility, acting affronted as though it was appalling that Lexa thought she was a woman who would go back on her word. Sacrifices were to be made for their loses. They had claimed so. Lexa continued to insist that the randomly selected people had nothing to do with her fight. ‘ _That they don’t._ ’ The Queen said. _‘So they shouldn’t be your concern_.’”

 

A dark look passed over Indra’s face as she went to the next series of events. Even Nyko seemed to bow his head as he worked. Dread began to seep into Clarke’s being.

 

At the apex of the sixth battle, when Lexa had dealt a heavy blow to her opponent and everyone was perfectly clear on who the victor would be, the Ice Queen had prematurely raised her hand in the signal that signified death. A bundled babe was given to her in preparation. The way the Ice Queen held the child was a slap to the face, as if she was purposefully showing off her next victim.

 

“I will not claim to know Lexa’s thought process Clarke.” Indra uttered roughly. Her voice was so desolate that though Clarke herself was hurt, she too hurt for the woman who had witnessed what was possibly the greatest tragedy in her lifetime. “All I know is that she asked and was given a brief break.”

 

Lexa had retreated to her people, a grim look on her face. Like Indra, each one of Lexa’s warriors refused to believe that Lexa was even considering surrender. “I think,” Indra said wistfully. “I knew she was going to die when Lexa softly said, ‘She looks like _Clarke’_.”

 

It wasn’t just that Lexa refused to let harm befall the child with eyes blue like the sky, or hair like wisps of gold. Rather, it was just that it had taken for Lexa to see what was potentially a reincarnation of the girl she had left to die to realise something very crucial she had forgotten in her little crusade. Lexa had forgotten that these people were her own as much as the others of the Coalition were. No matter the choice of their queen, the people of the Ice Nation were people who had, more or less, peacefully fought and lived by their side under her rule. For this, Lexa had a lifelong duty to them and she should not have let a single person die by her sword, or by the consequences of her actions, be she of fault or not, to the best of her ability. Refusing the responsibility to care for these people not only meant that whatever bullshit claims the Ice Nation put her way would be true, but it also would not make her worthy of the Commander’s role.

 

Besides, Lexa couldn’t quite guarantee how many more people were going to die as a result of the Queen’s visible fickleness with life.

 

Emotional walls seemed to be thrown into place when Lexa then spoke of the more level headed reasoning of this fight. If Lexa won this fight, she kept both her life and the Ice Nation people as, essentially prisoners or war, which was not something she wanted anyway, Lexa had said. She couldn’t just free them without a price – none of the clans would accept it. Unfortunately, it was a possibility that the few clans who sided more with the Queen than with the Coalition, or neither, would find this – keeping people they had fought with prisoners – as grounds to fight. Again, what was stopping from Lexa doing what she did to the Sky People and to the Ice Nation to them? Especially if her reasoning was that she did it for her own people. At which point, no one could, frustratingly enough, disagree with her as they would do the same. Thus these course of events would thrust everyone into a massive civil war. More death for more than just the people of the Ice Nation.  There was just no pleasing everyone.

 

However, if Lexa were to surrender now, though there was the threat of hierarchal disorder, her surrender, and likely death, would also likely be used as a cause to unite once more against a single enemy. It was martyrdom. The Coalition would feel obliged to keep the Coalition intact in tribute. People were still going to die for the Ice Nation’s transgressions – it was inevitable – but, hopefully, at lesser numbers. Lexa’s influence and responsibility to the Ice Nation people would extend to giving those who surrendered to the Coalition equality amongst all. She made her warriors promise.

 

Clarke had to admire Lexa’s thoughts on the entire matter, given that they were thought up in mere moments. The entire plan was messy but somewhat predictable. It was what made Lexa such a strong leader. It was also what made the urge in Clarke, (the one that told her to hunt down Lexa’s soul and scream at it for a while) to rear its ugly head.

 

There were obvious disagreements with their Commander. Some more vocal than others. In the end of course, the responsibility of the decision came down to Lexa.

 

Without dealing the final blow to her still fallen opponent, Lexa turned from her people and sheathed her sword. She threw it to the ground and marched as close as she could to the Ice Queen. There was no hesitation in the way she moved resolutely and took the child from the Ice Queen’s grasp. Indra admitted to not knowing what the exact words and conditions for Lexa’s surrender was as words passed between the leaders – only that the child was to be taken and given to Indra, and that her soldiers had safe passage from their territory. “The Queen agreed far too quickly.” Indra muttered disgustedly.

 

The next moments after Lexa’s surrender seemed to happen both quickly and in slow motion. While the screaming bundle was thrust into Indra’s arms, the Ice Nation guards already hustling the Tree Clan guards away, Lexa remained, still standing before the Queen. The movements of the Queen were graceful as she reached for the blade by her hip, and thrust it into Lexa’s side.

 

Clarke couldn’t help but weep as Indra spoke.

 

Apparently, it was common practice to parade another’s leader, if captured alive, around. Bragging rights essentially. If death was to be the loser’s fate, it was drawn out. Like Costia’s death. The quickness of such Lexa’s end was shocking. Perhaps, in some eyes’ merciful, but this was the Ice Queen. The ruthless leader. Lexa’s had been run through with a sword too fast, too quickly, for it to be an appropriate death. It gave Lexa no time to defend, despite her surrender. Really, it was like stabbing someone in the back or poisoning them before hand. Underhanded and honourless.

 

Indra’s next words came out mechanical, as if she had told this story numerous times. Despite the emotionless state of her sentences, Clarke could see the way Indra’s eyes glistened, how she had to pause now and then to adjust herself and how her jaw tightened.

 

While the bundle was given to another, smaller soldier, Indra had already drawn her sword. Three men were taken down before anyone else could react. The other Tree Clan warriors looked ready to join the fight when Lexa’s wavering voice carried over. _Leave. I thank you for your fight. Now I bear this responsibility so no one else has to._

 

The members of the Tree Clan were left to be dragged out kicking and fighting the Ice Nation guards as they watched their leader keel over while the Ice Queen gleefully stood over her. They proved to be outmatched and they reluctantly retreated to bring about the grim news of their passed leader.

 

Like Lexa had predicted, the ties between the Coalition tightened against the Ice Nation (and two other defecting clans). For their previous leader, the Tree Clan warriors headed to the front lines for each and every fight the Ice Nation initiated (it was only ever the Ice Nation who hit first) over the course of the weeks that followed. Clarke was surprised she hadn’t run into any of these battles.

 

Willa corrected her quietly. “Things are only just now escalating. We’ve had two major, army battles in the last three weeks since the previous commander. There were scatters of smaller scuffles with scouts on both sides every few days and the political situation at Polis was spiralling at the lack of an obvious leader.”

 

In her mind, Clarke didn’t try to imagine what the outcome would have been if only she had gone to Polis instead of wandering for weeks to the west.

 

Deciding that looking to the normally stoic Indra while she recomposed herself was an invasion of privacy of sorts, Clarke softly spoke to Willa. “Until you came along.” A nod. “So when did you…?” Clarke trailed off, waving her free hand at the restless girl. Nyko gruffly told to still herself as he applied a set of fresh bandages to her left side.

 

Willa twitched, her eyes darting respectfully away as Nyko made Clarke remove her shirt. As he wrapped the bandages around her torso, Willa spoke to Indra. The woman became rigid at hearing her talk before nodding, rubbing at her eyes and leaving with an inclination of her head to Clarke.

 

“I just told her to take a moment for herself.” Willa assured.

 

Clarke was a little relieved. She could handle an out of character Indra – it was a side effect of grief after all – but she didn’t think she could handle a crying Indra. “You can look back at me now.”

 

Willa did so, and Clarke motioned to the seat by her cot. At another time, Clarke would have been amused by the way Willa seemed taken back with the offer. Even more so when she gave a tentative smile and sat down, her feet swinging with the inability to reach of the floor. Clarke knew the chair was a standard height, but this was ridiculous. “How old are you?” Clarke gaped distractedly.

 

Willa flushed, toying with the hem of her shirt. “Nine falls.” She said in a small voice.

 

Nine. This girl was _nine_.

 

“Turning ten at the end of the season.” Willa added.

 

Oh well that made it all the better now didn’t it?

 

Clarke wasn’t quite sure how this succession thing worked with the Grounders. But sending an inexperienced nine – _ten_? Whatever – year old girl to become their next leader in the midst of civil unrest was ridiculous and making her unnecessarily angry.

 

Inhaling sharply, Clarke focussed on something else. “And this Commander thing?”

 

Willa seemed all too happy to talk. Her eyes darted just over her shoulder and Clarke remembered the presence that seemed to linger around her. “You notice them?” Willa asked softly.

 

“What?”

 

“I’ve seen your eyes dart just past me many times.” Willa caught her out. Clarke shrugged helplessly, wincing a little at the pain, without having anything to say. What could she say to that? Willa frowned. “As far as I’m aware, only the Commander notices their past lives lingering by them. Yet, like you Clarke, some few seem to know there is someone by my side.” Willa mumbled something to herself, scowling. She shook her head vehemently. “No matter. The Sky People are not aware of our customs regarding reincarnation, correct?” Clarke affirmed her suspicions.

 

Willa launched into an explanation of traditions. A number of words didn’t have a translation for the Sky People’s language, but the girl did explain as best as she could the meaning. Paraphrasing it, the whole reincarnation idea what that there was the Commander’s Spirit, rightful leader. Never in the history as people knew was the Commander a failure. They were some of the best warriors, clever, wise and held the wisdom of their past lives. However, the Commander’s Spirit was clever. It knew the way mortal’s irregular life span’s worked. As its defence mechanism, should the Commander’s spirit die, it moved to its next host. Out of the Grounders, there were a handful of people worthy and ready enough to carry the Commander’s spirit within a generation. Usually the Spirit chose a child – old enough to garner the consequences of their actions, yet young enough not to be spoiled by the trials and bias of survival and war. Willa admitted to being one of the younger one, while typically, the Spirit chose hosts around eleven to thirteen. Lexa too had been chosen at a younger age.

 

Somewhere between Willa’s speaking, Nyko had excused himself to clean up and cleanse his equipment.

 

Now when Lexa passed – Clarke bowed her head – the Spirit had moved on to Willa. The Grounder Elders had been searching for a few days for their next Commander after receiving news of Lexa. What were the chances that during the time of great need, the new Commander was so quickly and readily chosen from a child within their reach? It usually took years to find another Commander. No, this was supposedly meant to be. The Elders selected a diverse council to act as the right hand to the new Commander and advice them, even make if the situation allowed, with decisions until a time where the new Commander could act on their own. In the mean time, Willa acted not only as Indra’s Second, but as a second to other Clan members and Coalition representatives as well to hurry along her training.

 

All the while that the small girl spoke, Clarke studied her. She had been wrong before in comparing Willa and Lexa in their physical appearance. Their eyes, while hazel were shades different from each other. As were the shape of their eyes. Lexa’s hair had been wavy, whilst the girl had more of a curl to her hair. Their skin tones were different – Lexa had a tan compared to where Willa had skin like snow. Little differences like this seem to detach the idea that Lexa was truly gone and that she could still walk through the doors at any given moment, because of the small part of Clarke that still desperately wanted Lexa to alive.

 

When the door did actually open, making the hut’s occupants jump in surprise and popping the bubble they had been in, it was not Lexa but a boy, little older than Willa, instead. He was panting like he had run a marathon as he hastily bowed to them. Clarke was thankful when instead of speaking in Trigedasleng, he spoke in mindfulness to Clarke’s presence (even if his accent was strong and his sentences a little broken). “ _Heda_ , I bring news about the arrival of the Nord Clan from one of their messengers. They hail news from their home Echam about the Ice Nation. Apparently raids of bigger sizes happened. Then, invasion. They brought message to us instead of Polis first so that they can get our,” He paused, trying to come up with the words. “ _Agreement_ , before they march to the Capital.”

 

Willa stood up, a blank mask over her features. Her timid tone turned into one Clarke recognised Lexa used when directing absolute orders. The presence by her shoulder, the Commander’s Spirit apparently, seemed to fill the room in an instant. The boy seemed to recognise it, and knelt to the ground. Willa didn’t look phased. “Have the Elders greet them and tell them I will be with them shortly.” The boy nodded, quickly leaving to do as told.

 

“Forgive me for my abrupt leave Clarke.” Willa softened when she turned to Clarke. She look so apologetic about having to go about her duty, to leave Clarke’s side, that for a while Clarke wasn’t too sure if it was Willa saying those words.

 

Lifting her uninjured right arm, Clarke placed her hand on Willa’s velvety hair. The girl seemed to stiffen under her palm before relaxing and closing her eyes. “It’s okay.” Clarke murmured. Her eyes fell to the girl, then to the hovering presence. “Go on.”

 

Willa nodded, her eyes snapping open. She hugged Clarke (Clarke was going to have to rethink her whole idea on Grounders not showing affection if Willa kept acting like this) and left.

 

 

Clarke froze. Like a breeze, a familiar voice whispered in the room. Though Willa had left, the Commander’s Spirit seemed to stay there with her. It hovered close, just a breath away. This couldn’t be happening. What the hell did Nyko put in her medicine?

 

_Clarke. Stay by her side. She needs help. Something is coming._

 

Then it was gone. Clarke physically felt like she could breathe easier, though she was now a little worried that she was about to go into another panic attack. There was no way – it wasn’t possible – why – it was _Lexa’s_ voice –

 

Ignoring her pain, Clarke swung her feet over the side of the cot. She steadied herself as she stood, fixing on the door where Willa had exited. “Fuck it.” She said as she waddled slowly to it.

 


	3. Act I: Chapter III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there's a bit of trouble making, crossovers, and ancient literature for some reason that I can't explain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Several things to clarify up:  
> \- It's been pointed out that a particular tag hadn't been added due to a plot point in the story. Before this was a multi-chapter, I may have put the warning in, but now that it is, the warning doesn't apply. While I am going to have a happy ending to this (because I love those, don't you?), it's not going to come without me dragging you through much pain  
> \- The story is going split up into Three Acts that goes something like: Angst, Angst and Fluff, Fluff with Angst.  
> \- Willa is pretty much meant to be a younger Lexa, or how I imagine her to be as we can't have a younger Lexa. (Or can't we?)

Here’s the thing about leadership: amongst the many talents one had to have, you had to have a certain kind of smarts to be given the role. Smarts that could lead people through hard times, smarts that inspired soldiers to fight. Classic Leadership Skills 101. Listening to the supposedly dead ghost-thing of an ex-commander to do something that was most certainly going to aggravate her wounds was probably not on the list of smart things to do.

 

Maybe it had something to do with the fact Clarke was forced into the role – whatever higher power up there must have skipped the leader requirements checklist in their hurry to make Clarke the boss. Whatever the case, Clarke was now leaning heavily against the door on the other side of where she should have been resting without a clue as on how to proceed. _Thank you, mysterious Lexa voice_ , Clarke thought to herself. _For leaving me hanging. What the hell did Nyko put in that sedative?_ She winced at the slight flare of pain at her side, carefully making her way to the back of the hut where it was less busy.

 

Not that the greeting view of the outside world was that much busier. A large crowd, pretty much consisting of what was probably every able-bodied person, congregated some distance away from where Clarke could barely see them. Only a couple of hurrying stragglers bothered to glance distractedly at the blonde girl shuffling away.

 

Slumping against the wood of the little house at its back area, Clarke tried to formulate a plan in her head. So, her ghostly friend seemed quite keen on having her chase after the current Commander. To protect her. Yet what could Clarke do that the rest of the Grounders couldn’t?

 

“Are you supposed to be here?”

 

Clarke barely stopped herself from smashing the back of her head against the wall behind her in her surprise. She quickly straightened up, already trying to formulate a convincing lie in her head. The young girl who startled her peered at her from her place low between the bushes. She crawled out of the thicket a little awkwardly on her hands and feet, landing on her back with a huff and staring up at Clarke’ puzzled face. Whatever lie Clarke was forming died on her lips as she considered the girl. This girl looked to be around ten years old, with her golden curls bundled messily at the back of her head. Her face was covered in dirt and lines of war paint; to a pattern Clarke had seen of electrical pathways on the motherboards her father had sometimes brought home back on the Ark.

 

The girl’s bright eyes widened and she tilted her head, scraping a little at the ground. “You’re Clarke Griffin of the Sky People.” There was awe in her voice. “I heard you were here but I did not believe it! Are you not supposed to be dead? Not your people, but you in particular? I thought you charged into the Mountain and died?” When Clarke hesitated to answer (because how do you even answer to _that?_ ), a smile grew on the girl’s face. “And you’re not supposed to be here, are you?” She asked cheekily.

 

Clarke managed a smile back and sunk to the ground in attempt to ease the discomfort at her side. “Are you?” Came her playful answer.

 

The girl huffed, sat up and turned, so she could face Clarke. “I _was_ with my unit, but then we were dismissed so I went exploring.”

 

The smile seemed to falter as Clarke took in the girl’s words. Then the girl’s clothing registered in her mind. Besides the war paint – that was now apparent belonged there for a reason – the girl was wearing a dark camouflage jacket, dark pants and combat boots. Combat knives were strapped just underneath the boots, at the right thigh and barely hidden by the jacket at the waist. Clarke’s blood ran cold. This small, confident looking girl was a soldier.

 

“I’m Gen by the way.” The girl added when Clarke didn’t speak. “News of your accident has spread around camp – should you be up?”

 

Clarke swallowed loudly. “I was talking to Willa – ah, the new Heda –” Yeah, Clarke didn’t think she would get used to the idea of that without Lexa in the picture anytime soon. “When she just left the room after the arrival of another clan.”

 

Gen nodded along thoughtfully. She sat cross-legged and let an elbow dig into her knee as she propped her head against her knuckles. “I see. And I bet you just wanted to join this meeting and everything like some sort of Skykru representative but because you’re injured the Commander wouldn’t let you come, right?”

 

Because Clarke couldn’t very well say that she was probably high on a sedative, or worse, going after the supposed reincarnation of the ghost that apparently talked to her – just because _she_ knew she was losing her sanity didn’t mean other people should be made aware of it too – she nodded along. “Sure.”

 

Gen looked smug at the affirmation. “I see how it is.” She paused. An impish grin spread across her features then and she waggled her eyebrows. “Do you want to come with me and sneak into the super-secret-but-not-really-meeting?”

 

Clarke didn’t think she could refuse even if she wanted to with the hopeful way Gen was staring at her. In any case, something like this seemed to be more productive than letting her thoughts fester and plague her mind as fun as _that_ sounded. Laughing lightly, Clarke gave a shrug. “Well, if you insist.” She drawled. Clarke pushed lightly from the wall, fumbling a little as she stood. Gen was kind enough to let Clarke draw some support from her like a human crutch and even point out certain places to step as they walked into the bushes. At one point, at hearing noises not particularly made by the pair, Gen handed Clarke one of the knives from her boot ‘for protection’.

 

Clarke weighed the knife carefully in her hand, considering it, before coming to terms that she would rather be safe than sorry in case of an event and tucking the knife at the waistband of her pants. “What were you doing out here anyway?” Clarke asked. She motioned around her with a careless wave of a hand. The pair was in the bushes enough not to be too close where people could easily see them, but close enough to still hear the loud commotion from the gathered crowds in the opposite direction they walked in.

 

Gen made a few weak noises, wrinkling her nose. “Well, ‘technically’ I was directed to rest, but my commanding officer – I’m training as a second you see,” The girl could not have looked more superior if she tried “– is going to take part in the…” Gen sounded a few words out in Trigedasleng as she looked for her words. “Meeting of Leaders.” She settled on finally. “And I wanted to come. Due to my rank, my Mentor says I am not to accompany her. Or to join, follow, escort, attend, lead, guide, steer, usher or go along with her.” Gen smirked up at Clarke. “I was never told not to _sneak_ in.”

 

“Ah loopholes.” Clarke feigned great solemnity dramatically.

 

Gen laughed but her expression was complete curiosity. “Loo-py-holes?” She mustered absolutely fascinated with the word. Gen repeated the words twice more, tasting the word in her mouth.

 

Clarke grinned in amusement, holding a hand against her side as she let herself laugh. The concept seemed almost foreign to her after weeks of distress. What the hell had Nyko put in her sedative? “It’s when there’s something in, say, a set of rules or even a set of _instructions_ ,” Clarke winked at Gen, causing her to giggle. “That is vague enough for someone to use so _technically_ they don’t get in trouble.”

 

“Loopyholes!” Gen exclaimed happily. “ _Helfye_! Thank you Clarke of the Sky People. I shall exploit this word with much joy!”

 

Swatting away a stray tree branch, Clarke raised an eyebrow. “Should I have given you ammunition to make trouble?” She teased. “And what is _hel-ef-ye_? I don’t think I’ve come across the word before.”

 

“Much like many phrases in your language Clarke, _helefye_ is what you would call slang.” Gen guided Clarke down a slope, steadying her when she slipped slightly. Clarke thanked her, hopeful she wasn’t pulling too hard on her new stiches. “I do not know a direct translation, but it means something joyful and sometimes, of celebration.”

 

Clarke was pretty sure she could guess where and how the word originated from but didn’t voice her suspicions.

 

“I was going to comment your astute knowledge of my language.” Clarke said instead. “I didn’t realise Grounder children were so well versed in it.”

 

“We’re not.” Gen shrugged. She nudged a stone out of her way with the toe of her boot. “Most do not bother learning. Great warriors tend to however, which is why I learnt it.”

 

Clarke blinked. “Smart kid.”

 

Under her arm, Gen seemed to puff up at the praise. “That’s nothing.” She crooned. “If you want to see something smart, wait till you see my hiding place in the War Room! You will be much impressed I think Clarke of the Sky People!”

 

“Which is where again?”

 

Gen explained it thoroughly. Clearly she was proud of her little concealed area. Apparently, the War Room was the name of the area where a building (as Gen described it, Clarke realised she was talking about a bunker) was built halfway into the ground. Because of that, to help keep fresh air circulating inside the building itself, air came in through special airways (‘vents’ Clarke noted) that led to the room. Air came in through particular holes and pipes in the ground distances away from the bunker itself that had been repaired as best as possible since their discovery. Gen was particularly thrilled at having found an airway that lead to the bunker’s main room after ‘not really getting lost’ (Gen’s words, not Clarke’s). Gen made a point to describe the War Room, preening further with each word she spoke because for not having ever officially entered the room, she had quite a bit of knowledge on it. The Room was circular with a wide diameter and decorated with a large map of the land at the table as its centrepiece, while multiple chairs lined the sides. Only the Commander sat at the end of the table, at its head on an elevated platform so their seat was higher than the rest. That platform was apparently where Gen’s special vents more or less led to, and where she favoured to hide as she listened in on the going-ons.

 

Oh yeah, Clarke was definitely impressed.

 

The only downside was that Gen – and so would Clarke – would have to be on their stomachs to fit. It was a good thing Clarke knew how to stitch up wounds herself. There was no way she wasn’t coming out of this little adventure of hers without busting at least one of Nyko’s new stitches. One must have broken as she helped Gen lift the metal grate that covered Gen’s hidden vent entrance. Another went to actually prying the gate apart from were it was rusted over. At least another two was snapped as she awkwardly crawled after Gen through the vent itself. Now Clarke wasn’t too sure exactly of how many stitches she had in the first place, but tumbling head first from the end of the vent, to a small, square room several feet down must have busted half the stitches left.

 

From the light filtering through the small window near the top of the room, Gen looked tickled to see Clarke grumbling as she straightened up. “Holding room.” She explained kicked at a box lying about. “Bunch of stuff from before the place was found. I hid a bunch of my stuff here. Look around if you wish while I look for the glow.” Even as she explained, Gen was already crouching over one box and pulling out several items. Clarke sat by her side.

 

“Where did you find this?” Clarke mumbled as Gen set down a wireless radio on the ground. She picked it up, her blue eyes ghosting over its shape.

 

Gen was busy throwing a worn looking rubber duck over her shoulder. “Most of the stuff I find lying around the area gets put here. I tend to pass through here sometimes coming from and to Polis so I keep it all here. They’re from all sorts of places, but _that_ ,” She pointed to the radio in Clarke’s hands. “I found from a familiar place like this to the south. Except it was completely under ground. It doesn’t work though. No power source is what my friend said.”

 

Clarke hummed. For some reason, though Clarke made a note to ask what exactly Gen knew of _power sources_ , the more pressing matter to her was how the radio made her think of one Raven Reyes. Rather, it made her _miss_ her. What she wouldn’t give to be snarked or snapped at now. Was she still doing her crazy engineering for making a better place for the Sky People? Did she ever sort out that weird sexual tension she had going on with that Kyle Wick guy? Thinking about Raven made Clarke suddenly very, _very_ homesick. She missed Bellamy and his grin – his laugh, his jokes, his _advice_ –, Octavia and her smirk – was she happy now? Was Lincoln with her? Was she still a warrior? – (though she probably still resented Clarke), and so many others. She also very much missed her mom.

 

A stick hit Clarke in the face, right between the eyes with Gen’s frantic profuse string of apologies accompanying it. Clarke calmed her down, holding up the stick before her with one hand while the other rubbed at the not-really-sore spot. A laughed escaped her lips. Surprise – it was a _pencil_. Well then. There were dents along the neck of it, with the tip broken off at an angle but it was most definitely a pencil. When was the last time Clarke had held on in her hand? Better yet, when was the last time she had _used_ it? A smile toyed on Clarke’s face. She stood, walking to the nearest box. Gen came closer, peering over her shoulder as Clarke dug around. It was in the third box that Clarke found what she was looking for – a book.

 

The hard cover of the book was white with red engraved along its surface in a clever manner that it created depictions of many things. Clarke didn’t pay too much attention to the tattered cover, the black stating it’s title – _Dante’s Inferno_ – and flipped to the very first page where a small dedication sat at its centre. The words were not recognisable but Clarke was more invested in the expanse of white that stretched around the words.

 

Clarke barely let the tip of her pencil touch the page before Gen hurried over to her. The small girl let out a soft apology but pulled at Clarke’s arm till she stood. Clarke tucked the book away into a pocket of her pants along with the pencil and followed her, promising to herself to make use of it later.

 

Behind a crate that Gen had to use a bit of force to push was a small gape in the wall. Gen paused to snatch something off a shelf before bringing a finger to her lips and pointing at the hole. Clarke heard it then, echoing slightly off the walls – people. In her excitement of finding a pencil, Clarke almost forgot why they were there. There was chatter filtering through the walls at an increasing rate that only seemed louder as Clarke crawled after Gen through the tunnel. As the light began to fade, Clarke heard the snap of plastic before their small tunnel illuminated with a fluorescent light. Ahead of her, Gen looked over her shoulder to grin at Clarke, waving the glow stick slightly.

 

Seriously, what else did this Gen girl have lying around?

 

The tunnel widened suddenly. While Gen crawled over to the right of the sudden vast of space, Clark pulled up beside her on the left. The blonde girl reached over, guiding the fluorescent light along the wooden sides of their hiding place until she spotted the loose piece she was looking for. In the green light, Gen held up two fingers to her eyes, then pointed at the loose piece and made a ‘move’ sign with her hand. As Clarke moved up more, Gen moved the light down to the other end, before army crawling to her own peering spot at the other end.

 

Clarke pushed back the indicated wooden panel, watching as several characters lined up one side of the table. Willa stood firmly at the middle, with Indra at her side and a few other Trikru members a step behind her. No one seemed to be using the chairs. The other half of the conversation was with a group Clarke couldn’t see from her place.

 

“I must thank you _Heda_ ,” The voice of a man was saying. “The reception was received satisfactory for an impromptu visit.”

 

Willa inclined her head. “It was the least I could do for you.” She paused. “We are not speaking Trigedasleng Heda Finch. You are anxious at being overheard?”

 

The man coughed and exhaled loudly. “Paranoia is a mighty thing, Heda Willa. Our Clan was just attacked.” The last words came out bitter before the man sighed dejectedly. “Too many died, others, including a sister of mine, taken. What is left of my people resides north of this camp and a day distance from Polis. You and your people know as well as I that the Ice Nation needs to be stopped.”

 

“ _Our_ people.” She corrected. Willa’s eyes narrowed and she braced herself against the edge of the table she was just taller by two feet. “What is it exactly you want me to do?” She asked evenly.

 

The man launched into a tirade of sorts. He seemed to slip up at times, turning to Trigedasleng at more passionate points. Clarke got the gist of it however. An attack from the Ice Nation on the Nord Clan had been made, and the casualties were grim. Action was ill advised, but inaction was worse. The attack, having been against one of the Coalition, was an act of war. That fact was indisputable. However, the next course of action was to be considered carefully. There was some discussion on various plans, but many of it came down to that who were willing allies.

 

Voices began to overlap each other in heated discussion over who could be trusted. All the while, Willa remained silent, expression blank and arms crossed while the other argued.

 

“The Queen to the North East has a strong military group. Their assistance could be vital.”

 

“You only say that because of the stories of that White Knight she has by her side. They are strong, yes, but small.”

 

“I, for one, would be hesitant to ask the Heda of the West. There are apparently disputes within the clan due to a daughter of hers and her _Hod_. And a _fish demon_? Wait till they calm.”

 

“Just don’t ask the Southerners. Their gleeful bunch would be definitely worth recruiting amongst our ranks, if not for their insane leader. She launched five people out of the catapult contraption she built _for fun_.”

 

“What about the Sky People?”

 

There was a loud snap that immediately cut through the chatter. From her place, Clarke saw Willa’s form hunched over the table, one hand drilled into its surface. Already a purple hue began to bloom where her knuckles dug into the table’s wood. But Willa didn’t even seem phased, her eyes narrowing as she surveyed her audience. “Let me speak plainly.” Willa said coldly. Her voice was almost deathly quiet but Clarke knew everyone heard her. Especially with the way the presence at her shoulder seemed to expand and fill the room at an alarming speed. Everyone bowed their heads like they were unable to keep them up. “We will not bring the Sky People into a war that does not concern them. Am. I. _Understood_?”

 

The volume increased rapidly by the end of the sentence. Not expecting Willa’s shout by the end of her speech, Gen jerked up in surprise, hitting a limb (Clarke couldn’t tell what in the darkness) against the walls of their hiding place.

 

As one, a number of weapons were unsheathed with a metallic song. The entire room tensed, standing defensively, before, “Get _out_.” Willa commanded. When no one moved, she repeated the words, this time in Trigedasleng. She barked something else Clarke couldn’t pick out, banging the hilt of her unsheathed blade against the table. The warriors glanced at each other before reluctantly leaving. And then, “Whoever you are, reveal yourself _now_.”

 

Clarke saw the fear in Gen’s eyes in the shadows created from the fluorescent light. The young girl seemed to be edging down and away but Clarke stopped her. There was no way the two could simply just leave. It would leave all the leaders paranoid of spies in their midst if they just departed without a word. No: the situation had to be diffused.

 

Clarke pointed to Gen, and then brought the finger to her lips, before pointing to herself and then up. Gen quickly nodded. Clarke breathed out before knocking on the wood above her head. “Willa?” Clarke called out cautiously. She heard a sharp inhale before continuing. “It’s Clarke. There’s someone else with me. Don’t freak out, okay?”

 

Clarke eyed Gen who, very reluctantly, wiggled around a little before kicking up above her. She kicked it twice more, and Clarke realized that another vent grate was situated under the Commander’s seat. Light flooded into their small space as the chair, and then the grate, was moved. Indra’s unamused face greeted her, as did the knife she held defensively. Willa peered curiously over too, her eyes widening a little at the sight of both Gen and Clarke on their backs.

 

Instead of asking the questions Clarke knew was plaguing Willa’s mind, the young commander merely said, “Do you require help up, Clarke?” If she looked a little closer, Clarke would have seen a smile threatening to make its way across Willa’s lips.

 

Sheepishly, the blonde sky girl nodded. It took a few moments to unhurriedly remove Clarke from the small space without reinjuring her. As soon as she did, Clarke braced herself against the big chair that must have been the Commander’s seat and straightened her clothes.

 

While Gen herself was being helped out, Clarke got a good look at the occupants of the other side of the discussion. The oldest of the three remaining was a middle-aged man with a cane. His mouth was set but his eyes, hidden behind a pair of crooked glasses, were colored with astonishment. To his right was a slightly younger man, built bigger than any occupant in the room. The man’s hand hadn’t move from the large hilt of the axe by his waist. The last of them was a short woman who looked like she didn’t know whether to laugh or to look pissed. They were all dressed like Gen, all with similar markings of war paint across their faces.

 

“You’re part of the Nord Clan.” Clarke caught on as Gen walked by her. The small blonde girl shrugged helplessly as she walked to the small group waiting for her. A flick to the forehead from the woman and a series of admonishing words in Trigedasleng from the eldest man were what Gen received upon meeting them.

 

“I apologize for the foolishness of my youngest sister Wren, Heda Willa.” Heda Finch said stiffly. He bowed respectfully to the Commander, if a little awkwardly, using the hand not resting on his cane to push down Gen head down also.

 

Clarke saw the horrified expression on Gen’s face and would have laughed if not for the situation. “My name is Gen!” She hissed. “Code names remember?” Gen huffed when Finch pushed down a little harder on her head muttering something Clarke thought sounded like ‘ _no respect_ ’.

 

“We were both at fault Heda Finch. A little exploration was made on both our parts.” Clarke said humbly. She saw the warning glances shot at her from both Indra and Willa at the corner of her eye but continued. “Forgive me for our first meeting like this. My name is Clarke Griffin of the Sky People.”

 

The Nord Clan (save for Gen) all managed to look stunned. Clarke couldn’t blame them. As a leader of a Clan of the Coalition, the elder man would have no doubt been a part of the men who had turned their backs on the Sky People. Clarke wouldn’t be surprised if they all had the same thinking Gen had – that though her people lived, she, Clarke, had died on the Mountain. It would explain the bewilderment that met her. Heda Finch looked at Willa questioningly. On her part, Willa rubbed at the bridge of her nose. “Forgive me for the dismissal Nord Clan. It seems I have matters to attend to at present. We shall meet again tomorrow if that would please you?”

 

Heda Finch nodded, still casting curious looks at Clarke. They didn’t seem to pry – the look was merely one of inquiry. “After our morning meal.” He agreed readily. “I shall have one of the twins,” He indicated to the two warriors behind him. “Alert you when we are ready. Good day.”

 

Willa inclined her head. “Very well. Indra shall escort you to your homes.”

 

Once everyone departed and it was just Clarke and Willa let, the small girl leaned back and sunk Commander’s seat. Everything from her posture to her will seemed to wilt with incredible vulnerability. Her legs were drawn up to her chest, the palms of her hands pressing into her eyes – one of which coated a part of her face red from the slight bleeding at her knuckles. Clarke couldn’t believe she had ever forgotten just how young Willa actually was. With the way the dark haired girl shrunk into herself, she looked much, much younger than Clarke had ever seen her.

 

The presence by her shoulder seemed to envelop her and – maybe Nyko’s sedative wasn’t wearing off like she thought – solidify of sorts in a very familiar humanoid shape. Choosing to ignore it, Clarke wandered and sat by Willa’s legs at the side of the Commander’s seat.

 

“I have no idea what I’m doing Clarke.” Willa mumbled.

 

Clarke knew exactly how that felt. She experienced the very same feeling months ago upon landing for the first time on Earth. But she didn’t speak a word. Willa needed an outlet, and talking to Clarke seemed as good as any. Was this what the ghost of that who had passed meant when she said Willa needed her?

 

“They say I am Commander. That both the Ritual and my traits fit with those before me and that of which a Commander must. There is no doubt in my position except that which I find in myself.” Clarke didn’t think she heard a child sound so miserable before. “Perhaps they are right. Perhaps those reasons are why I see the Past Lives of the Commanders for I, unlike seemingly, _you_ Clarke, have no connection to them than being chosen. But something is wrong. Very wrong. Have you ever experienced loss Clarke?”

 

“Yes.” Her dad. Wells. The fifty-two. Finn. Lexa.

 

Clarke saw Willa clutch at her shirt tightly. “I know of it too. I lost my mother and my heart hurt. A hole burned into my chest. The pain eventually waned but I have felt it again after Commander Lexa passed.” Clarke wasn’t going to lie and say she didn’t feel that sort of thing too. “It’s different somehow though. Like a part of my soul is missing. But the Elders said I would feel wholeness like no other. But I do not. I barely knew the last Commander, so why do you think that is Clarke?”

 

Bits of a puzzle seemed to be falling into place. Clarke couldn’t, _wouldn’t_ fit them together. It seemed absurd.

 

“Heda Finch said that amongst their fallen, a burnt body, amongst a sea of ashes that had once been their home, was raised with a message carved on the chest and back. One of the Nord scribes wrote the message down.”

 

Clarke half turned and let Willa give her a balled up piece of paper, which had been scrunched where Willa had tightened her fist. Flattening the paper out, Clarke read the words.

 

“ _Many battles occurred between the two forces both by day and by night, and many places were set on fire… and also the library, whose volumes, it is said, were of the greatest number and excellence_ ”

 

“Unlike many of the Grounders, I come from a background of literacy before I found my prowess as a warrior. This is common knowledge. Both my parents were Scribes and I know to read.” Willa’s voice became muffled as she dug her head further into her arms. “Do you want to know why I think we have just been challenged to war Clarke? I know because I have been taught of our Ancestor’s history. A particular favourite of mine was that of the events that surrounded the Roman Empire. Ingenuity at its finest and I was fascinated. Do you know many great buildings rose and fell around this time?”

 

Clarke knew where this was going. She remembered a time where her mother had learnt Latin to further her medical studies. The stories that came with certain words would often distract Abby and she would bring it up constantly throughout dinner. Even after her Latin studies would end, Abby got into the hobby of reading titbits of random information she found in books, to which, Clarke would find entertainment in drawing parts of the stories as she spoke.

 

“There is only one library I know of in history that would match the description of having volumes ‘ _of the greatest number and excellence_ ’.” Willa finally raised her head, her hazel eyes meeting Clarke’s sky blue ones steadily. “And that is the Library of Alexandria.”


End file.
